Erik
by PhantomessRose
Summary: A monologue from Erik's POV. I chose to go based off of the musical, with mentions of some of the novel's characters added in. Please review! Enjoy!


I suppose I am writing this for posterity. Though, I do not know what good it will do me. I dare say, if anyone were to ever stumble upon this they would be quite surprised to learn that their fabled 'Opera Ghost' was no more than a man. A mortal. Mad, though I am thought to be, yes. I am also a musical genius...composing my own works, in hopes that one day they might be performed here, right in this very Opera house... hm...wishful thinking, isn't it? Well...where should I start? Ah! I know...  
  
I live below, in the dark recesses of the Paris Opera House, away from light and the hustle-and-bustle of the stage above. Erik is my name. Just Erik. I wear a half-mask to conceal my disfigured face...this face that has and still continues to strike fear and loathing into the hearts of whomsoever happens upon me unmasked. This horrid, grotesque mass of gnarled, twisted, and maimed flesh. Deformed from birth. Even my own mother despised me, this child, just because of my disfigurement. She forced me to wear a mask. A mask...my first unfeeling scrap of clothing...made it herself, she did, the very day I had come into this world. She was so repulsed by this...thing...she had given life to. She is dead now...horrid woman...  
  
Everyone shunned me...I have always been shunned. No love for poor Erik, oh no. Never... from no one...no gentle caresses, kind words, or even a smile in my direction. Ah, what dwelling on the past does to one's soul, eh?  
  
I, of course, never allow people to come down into my world, nor would anyone really want to. They're all scared by tales of the mysterious 'Phantom', this 'Opera Ghost' that haunts the opera, moving by means of trap doors, passageways, and shadow, scaring the young members of the corps de ballet. But, I am no specter...no ghostly apparition of times long past, even though I may move and act like one. No. I helped to build this Opera House, and the very place in which I now live. I built this secret labyrinth, made so complicated, with numerous twists, turns and dead ends, which only I know how to maneuver through. Only I... And one other. The Daroga. The Persian... Nadir. An old acquaintance of mine, you could say, from long ago. Now, I have hardly ever gone to the upper parts of the Opera house...  
  
But, quite recently, I have started rather constant trips out of my world, this world of never-ending night. I would never leave...were it for one person: a soprano in the chorus, then naught but a girl in the corps de ballet, Christine Daaé. Ah, Christine. From the moment I first heard her sing in the chorus, I knew... I knew she could be better...I could make her better, the star of the Paris Opera! And I did. I first came to her after that, proclaiming to be her fabled "Angel of Music". We began lessons right away, her clear soprano hitting all of the notes I set for her. She grew better over the passage of time, and I cherished every moment spent in her company, her beautiful voice, seeming to reach to the very heavens from which she descended. As time passed, she obtained the lead role in the opera "Faust", which soon became one of my favorites. I saw her every time she performed, watching her from Box 5, the one box in the whole theatre reserved for the 'Opera Ghost'. I also demanded a salary from the managers, a salary of, oh about 2,000 francs, to be placed in my box by the one woman allowed to enter, Madame Giry, the ballet instructor. Hm...rather clever on my part, don't you think? Well now, what was I saying? Oh yes!  
  
I loved seeing her happy...Christine, that is. One time, after lessons, after that rather foppish, insolent suitor of hers, Raoul de Changy - A Vicomte. Phuh. A Vicomte and a chorus girl? What an odd match. The Vicomte's older brother, Comte Phillipe de Changy, though, is rather more intelligent than him, and a better dresser, too. But, I digress... Where was I? Oh, of course. Well, one time after lessons, after I had admonished her for running a tad late, courtesy of Monsieur le Vicomte, I took her down with me, down into the bowels of the Opera House, to my home across the lake. Yes, there is a lake underneath the Paris Opera. Does that surprise you? Well, it surprised poor Christine, that is certain. Poor thing. She seemed rather frightened...but all of her fears soon vanished, as I sang to her of the world opposite hers...the world in which I called home...I played my pipe organ for her, as well. Darling child. She fell asleep in my arms. And, oh, how I cherished that time. I was finally able to hold my angel in my arms, at least for a while...  
  
The next morning, I sat at my organ, composing, playing, and then pausing to scribble down some note now and then before resuming. She awoke, but I was unaware. Her curiosity, it seemed, had grown too great, and several times she attempted to remove my mask, but I caught her each time...each time, save one. She seemed determined to see what was underneath my mask, and that annoyed me to no end, for some reason. She was finally able to sneak up on me, as I was engrossed in my music, and, when I am in that state I do not think of very much else. She walked quietly, quickly up behind me and, before I knew what was happening, tore the mask right off my face, exposing the horror that lie underneath. She screamed and took a few hurried steps back, still clutching my mask. An indescribable anger flooded through my veins, and I rounded on her. She was scared; I could see that in her eyes. After my anger had left me, I asked for my mask, which she gave back. I then brought her back to the surface...her world. Returning her to her beloved Vicomte.  
  
After the little incident of the disappearing soprano, as you can imagine, the managers were thrilled to see her again, and even more so was Raoul. I then requested that the lead role in "Il Muto" be given to her, and as always, my demands were rejected. So, I went for more drastic measures. On the night of the performance, after I had found out that the role I had wanted Christine to play was given to that Spanish diva, that Prima Donna, Carlotta Guiduchelli, I formulated quite a trick. Rather, way to get my revenge. I waited until about the middle of the performance, then told Signora Guiduchelli that her voice was going to bring down the chandelier, and in truth, something was. She seemed quite distraught over that, and the fact that I kept mocking her, unseen from everyone. Then, as a way to humiliate her fully, I made her voice resemble that of a toad, because she, of all people, called Christine, my angel, a toad. Can you believe it? A toad! Heh, well after she had been ushered offstage, sobbing, I might add, then the corps de ballet came on and danced to a Sylvyan Glade. It was actually rather pretty, but, alas, I had gotten bored rather quickly, what with all of the twists, turns, twirls and jumps those dancers were doing, so I decided to get rid of Monsieur le 'chief of the flies' Joseph Bouquet. Yes, I murdered him, right behind the backdrop, and I made my shadow look ominous, which, I think, gave the audience quite a shock. Oh, but that was nothing compared to what I did next. You see, when the dancers went out of step because I had made them nervous, I went and pulled the backdrop up, revealing the body of Bouquet, hung at the neck by my Punjab lasso. Then, during the confusion and pandemonium that ensued next, which I quite enjoyed watching, Christine and Raoul fled to the roof. To safety. Or so they thought.  
  
Little did they know, I had followed them up to the top of the Opera House, and I then hid behind the statue of La Victoire Alee. Oh, I shudder to think of what happened next. They confessed their love for one another. I was enraged, but I seethed quietly, failing to get rid of my anger. You see, I can have quite a temper, as everyone here knows, as quite a few people have been victims to my temper and rather murderous behavior. Well, then they ran off, just as happy as they could possibly be, and leaving me, Erik, in their wake. Let me see, how shall I phrase this? I had been... trampled... crushed...my Christine...my angel...had run off to get engaged to Raoul de Changy. They thought they were free, and that the only ones watching were the stars overhead. But, no. I had heard all.  
  
And there I sat, atop the large statue of the victorious angel, raising her arms to heaven, and I wept; bitter tears, yet full of emotion and longing for my love...I then vowed vengeance on them. I stayed true to my word, my word of a disaster beyond all imagination about to occur. And it did. I climbed atop the gigantic chandelier, making it sway perilously above the stage and orchestra pit. Then, at my word, the great chandelier fell to the stage in a tremendous crash. I, of course, managed to escape certain death at the hands of gravity, by jumping off of the chandelier some time before it hit the stage. Ah, the fools...they thought me dead for six long months. But, little did they know, that the 'Phantom' would appear to them again, this time at the grand ball given by the managers for all of Paris to ring in the new year. And me without an invitation. Ah, well.  
  
I hid amongst the guests, watching the goings on; the numerous partygoers, dressed in outlandish costumes; a monkey playing the cymbals, a tin soldier, and the devil from "Faust", a queen, king, highwayman, all of these and more. It was then, when I had just noticed an odd costume it was designed to be half-man and half-woman, so that you would not be able to tell whether the wearer was male or female...quite strange...ah, but I digress again...it was then that I saw my angel, with her fiancé. I shuddered with silent rage when I saw them together, but I held it in. It was then that I decided to make my grand entrance. I descended the steps of the Opera foyer with the greatest of ease, slowly though, as the guests stepped aside to let me pass. Oh, I was quite the sight: I had decided to go dressed in crimson clothing trimmed in gold and black, looking rather regal, in my stockings, pantaloons, jacket, cloak, plumed hat, and, to top it all off, a mask which resembled that of a skull. I then came to pause in front of the managers, thrusting a large, bound manuscript into André's arms, nearly knocking the man over from its weight. It was my masterwork, "Don Juan Triumphant", that I had thrust to him. I spoke a few words of foreboding, before setting my sights on Mademoiselle Daaé. I walked over to her, and, when I saw the chain with her engagement ring around her neck, I fought back another bout of anger. In fact, I just barely restrained myself from seriously injuring the poor Vicomte right then and there. I composed myself, and all I did was rip the chain from around Christine's throat. Then I vanished back into my world as soundlessly as I had come.  
  
In the days that followed, I watched the slow formation of my opera, the casting, and the numerous rehearsals, of which I have to laugh, because Carlotta was still scared that I would make her croak like a toad again. Hah...imbecile... Well, Christine, more often then not, seemed more ...how shall I phrase this, 'out of it' than usual. Yes, she seemed to be missing her father... so, one week, she traveled, by train, to Perros to visit the grave of her father. He was a violinist, apparently. I showed up there, and began to play a solo on her father's violin, seeing if that could call my angel back to me. And, it worked! Unfortunately, Monsieur le Vicomte happened to show up right in the middle of our meeting and spoil it all for me...again! Damn him! So, I then took it into my hands to scare the little idiot off. I grabbed a pike with a skull impaled on it, and made fireballs shoot from its mouth, and land a few inches in front of the Vicomte's feet. He stepped forward, and kept walking, each time a fireball landed just in front of him, and every time I taunted him, just to see what he would do. He called me the 'Angel of Death', and Christine had just about had it. Bless her. I admired the way she felt, yet understood completely. I watched as she dragged him away, quite literally, leaving me all alone. Of course, this came as no surprise, as I am always completely and utterly alone most of the time...  
  
After that little incident, I came back to Paris and my Opera House, awaiting the date that my opera was scheduled to make its debut. Every day, I waited; still tutoring Christine, making sure her voice was ready for her part. Finally, the night arrived. Raoul had called in the Fire Chief and his Marksmen, apparently all part of some plot to get rid of me once and for all. Hah! Like he could ever get rid of me... I decided to trick the Marksman who was stationed in the orchestra pit, by throwing my voice all around the theatre, confusing the young man, making him misfire. Seeing Raoul round on him angrily was well worth it, seeing as the fired shot would not have hit me anyway. Soon after, my opera began. I sat in my box, watching the play from up above, recalling every note that was played that night, every word that the actors and actresses sang, every note had been mine. I had written it, and now it was being performed, right before my very eyes. I came close to weeping right there in the box that night, but I withheld. Then came the final scene. I crept down to the backstage entrance, cloaked in Signor Piangi's costume, stood in the wings and waited until he pulled the curtains of the stage-bed closed as Don Juan, awaiting the arrival of Amnita, played by Christine. I had created that role specifically with her in mind. Beautiful voice, fair skin, wonderful acting talents... There I go again... I saw my chance, snuck into the scene, be means of the stage-bed, dispatched Piangi, by use of the Punjab lasso; Hah! Carlotta would have my head if she found out I had murdered him! And dressed in his outfit, since I had already known the part; hell I wrote it! Anyway, as soon as I sang those first few lines, I could tell that Christine knew something was amiss. Even so, she sang her part gracefully. At the end of that song, I decided to sing to Christine of my love for her and of longing, and prayers, which I hoped, would be answered by her. I gave her a gold band, nothing extravagant, just a plain gold band, the one I had always worn on my finger. Then, to my overwhelming surprise, she removed my mask, just as calmly as you please. It was then, to the audience's greatest shock, as I can only imagine, that I wrapped Christine in my cloak and we descended down into the underworld of the Opera house once again, leaving the actors, actresses, and the managers, in complete hysterics. And, Carlotta, when she found Piangi - or more like Piangi's body; Ah, I still recall how I could hear her hysteric scream all the way down so far underneath the Opera House.  
  
I rowed the boat across the lake, quite angry with Christine, one for not loving me, and two for removing my mask in front of a whole Opera house full of people. She protested a little as we got out of the boat, but as I hauled her into my house, I, like always, had that strange effect on her, causing her to go silent. I found myself suddenly longing to hold her in my arms again. She looked me right in the eye, yet, she was not afraid of what she saw was under the mask this time. Can you believe it? She had learned to accept me for what I was...but, that, unfortunately, was, to her a creature, not of regular humankind, meant to be pitied by all, and not be credited with any genius. Ah, but I suppose I am being rather bitter and cynical about this. Well, then who should come to her rescue than the Vicomte? I saw him standing there, banging on the bars of the gate, and begging to see her. I remember that I smiled smugly and made a rather dry comment to him, but, him being completely and utterly head-over-heels in love with the girl, paid hardly any mind to me. What a fop. I then caught Monsieur de Changy by the neck with one of my Punjab lassos, after letting him enter, and I think that pretty much sacred them both witless. She kept saying that I betrayed her, that I was not her "Angel of Music" like she had so come to believe; he said all he did was all for naught; and I told her that his life was now the prize she had to earn. I had asked her to be my bride, be with me for all eternity, it would seem, but she protested. I was heart broken; yet I would not show it. I turned that pain into anger. Anger for the Vicomte and Miss Daaé. By then, Christine had had enough. I remember clearly what happened next. She stood up, walking over to me slowly, and singing to me gently, calling me, and I quote, a 'Pitiful creature of darkness' saying that she really did care for me, and that God above had given her courage...courage to tell me that I was not alone in this world. I shall never forget what occurred next, though. She leaned in and kissed me. She kissed me! Never in my life have I felt any kind of love, as I stated earlier, and this was something all together new to me. I felt like I was finally accepted into that world which I had come to hate, just s they shunned and despised me. I felt something new stir inside of me: a rather large change of heart. I let the Vicomte go free, and told them both to leave and forget me, never to tell any soul about what had happened here that night.  
  
Just when I thought her gone, my angel returned to me, if only for a minute. She held out her hand and gave me back the gold band I had placed on her finger earlier that night. I pledged my undying love to her once again, and she turned around and left with her Raoul. I wept then, alone in my house beneath the theatre, with no one to keep me company...I imagined what could have been, and realized that I had done the right thing...that they would be happy until the end of their days, and that Christine still loved me...she always would, but I- I feared I might die of a broken heart. I sat there day after day, or night after never-ending night in my case, weeping, and wondering what could have been.  
  
As time progressed, I went back to 'her world' as I call it, and tutored new aspiring singers, doing something else to occupy my time. No matter how good the other girl's voices were, they could never match my angel's...my Christine's...her voice would have made the very angels in heaven wept and it did, at least for one angel- no, man. One man who still loved her.  
  
And I suppose it is here that I shall end this tale. To anyone who ever happens to find this, I hope they will think of me not as a monster, or phantom, but as a man, who only ever wanted was to love and be loved in return. And, with my genius, I could have built for royalty the world over, palaces of kings; but I had to be content with a cellar. I would like to think that I might live on, if even in legend, because that is truly what I am considered to be now. A legend. One that shall never die. I leave this now, for anyone who happens to find it, whether they find me or not.  
Adieu.  
~Erik 


End file.
